


let it be known: i did not fall from grace. i leapt to freedom.

by Blowing_minds



Series: tell me, lucifer, what was it like to fall? [1]
Category: Christian Bible, Lucifer (Comic), Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Abuse of italics, Angst, BAMF Lucifer, BAMF Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Friendship, Gen, Hurt Lucifer, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, NETFLIX OUT THERE DOING THE LORD'S WORK AMEN, Okay so uhhh, Self-Hatred, Siblings, Someone stop me, abuse of brackets, because uh yeah trixie and luci are the cronchiest brotp thx for coming to my ted talk, i wrote this while sleep deprived and while fighting a fever so if its wonky its not my fault okay, in my defense i was given Feels okay, its really late yall im sorry, leave me alone, lemme just start off with saying SEASON 4 WAS AMAZING YALL, like a lil bit because it's luci we're talking about here, no beta we die like men, oh there's like one swear, only a lil bit of angst okie i promise, thought yall should know, yall we need more bamf luci
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:30:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blowing_minds/pseuds/Blowing_minds
Summary: "You don't hafta answer, if you don't wanna.""Believe me, Spawn, I have spent years dealing with ‘personal’ questions. Ask away.”“...What was it like to fall?”





	let it be known: i did not fall from grace. i leapt to freedom.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myself because i deserve it](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=myself+because+i+deserve+it).



> oh look who it is. me. back on my bullshit.
> 
> :)
> 
> ahem. hello! thanks for clicking on this story. i discovered season 4 of lucifer was out, promptly binged, found whatever inspiration i was missing and then fell into a writing coma only to emerge two hours later with this... thing
> 
> DISCLAIMER: i'm not christian, have never been christian, and will never be christian. this fic is extremely inaccurate. i pretty much just copied and pasted different bits of the bible that fit. (i didn't use much of the bible in this story, actually. i only really used it to research lucifer's story and all that led up to the rebellion. most of everything else is based of the show, including lucifer's attitude and perception of the events.) 
> 
> there's also a little bit of, uh, self-hatred i suppose. it's nothing graphic, but luci really doesn't has a high opinion of himself lol. it's about the same as in the show, tho, so just be wary of that.
> 
> (and there's like one or two f-bombs. not sorry. swearing is a part of life coward)
> 
> (also one last thing: i didn't add goddess into this story, mostly because i was meh on that plotline of the show. idk, it just wasn't my fav and i figured it'd be easier and like more poetic if i just didn't include her. so yeah. god is a single parent now.)
> 
> enjoy!

“Is it alright if I ask you a question?” The Spawn’s voice was uncharacteristically hesitant. Lucifer paid it no mind. 

He waved a hand airily, and without looking up from his drink, said, “Of course.”

The Spawn moved across the room to sit herself on the barstool beside him. Lucifer turned to her, bemused. She had such an odd expression on her face—consternation, perhaps?

_What on Dad’s green earth was she anxious about?_

“It’s a little personal,” the Spawn said. Lucifer took a sip from his glass.

“Believe me, Spawn, I have spent years dealing with ‘personal’ questions. Ask away.”

“And, uh—Mom says that I should always make sure that the person I’m asking questions too knows that it’s alright if they don’t want to answer. So. You don’t hafta answer, if you don’t wanna.” 

Lucifer raised a brown, the slightest bit of concern niggling at his brain. It was almost like the Spawn wanted him to tell her no.

Well, whatever was going on, she had certainly gained his undivided attention. He shifted so he was facing her, took another drink and said, “Out with it.”

The human hesitated again, but gathered all the courage her tiny body could muster, and said—

“What was it like to fall?”

{}

Lucifer hadn’t always been _Lucifer._

_Lucifer_ had been a name he’d taken after his… exile, to the kingdom of the damned. Originally, he supposed, it was meant to be an act of rebellion. A last “fuck you” to dear old dad. A way to tell him, _you don’t want to listen to me? Fine. Your son is dead, and now I am all that remains._

After, though. (After he spent so many years in loneliness, in torment, in painpainspainpain—) It stopped being some petty rebellion and became a symbol. _Lucifer, the Devil, the King of Hell, the Father of Lies, the Angel of The Abyss, the Ruler of Demons._

Liar, murderer, tempter, belial, adversary, slanderer.

The Evil One.

Lucifer.

But then. _Then_. _Lucifer_ became he, and he became _Lucifer_. God’s gracious son had become no more, dead in the fall. _The First of His Angels, His brightest star, His Son of the Morning, His Left Hand._

His Samael.

(By Father, did Lucifer hate that name—)

Gone, completely, or at least mostly. Burned alive in the fires of the pit. (Fires he could never escape from, even as he screamed and screamed and screamed and—)

And from the flames, _he_ arose. 

A symbol of rebellion, one might say. He stood up, ignoring the pain searing his body (it was on fire, it was on _fire please Dad have mercy you’re supposed to be merciful_ —) and walked across broken glass to a throne of black.

(A throne of damnation, indeed.)

“Fine,” he had said, darkness in his smile and fire in his eyes, “You want me to be the bad guy?”

He had bared his teeth into a grin that looked like the broken glass cutting into his feet.

“Now I’m the bad guy.”

And from his laughter, his demons answered the call.

(Sometimes, Lucifer forgot who he was. Sometimes, Lucifer could not remember if he was truly someone reborn, or if he was the fragments of (don’t say it, don’t say the same) who he used to be, desperately trying to hold themselves together. Hold themselves sane.

(Was he Lucifer, or was he something broken wearing that scarred face?)

(Does it matter?)

(Sometimes, Lucifer thought it did.)

(Sometimes, he screamed himself hoarse looking at a mirror.)

{}

“Lucifer,” the Spawn—Beatrice, a voice murmured—said, big, beautiful brown eyes staring at his face with concern.

(And not—not concern his siblings (not his siblings, not anymore, not really) once showed, tinged with irritation and an alternative motive. But a genuine, innocent concern that warmed Lucifer right to his very core.

Where his grace once was.

(Where his grace still _is._ )

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad, it’s fine—“

“Calm down, Beatrice,” he murmured, voice distant. “It’s alright.”

“No it’s not!” A stubborn pause. “I don’t want to talk about it, anymore.”

“Why not? You asked.”

“Because…” Beatrice bit her lip. “Because it makes you sad, and I don’t want to talk about something that will make you sad!”

Lucifer huffed a gentle laugh. _This child_ , honestly. Beatrice was so unlike every human child he’d ever known, sometimes he wondered if she was real.

(The Detective didn’t understand why he hated (didn’t hate, not really) children. "What’s not to like," she’d asked once when they were on break for lunch, gesturing at a pair of giggling kids playing tag. "They’re so cute!"

Lucifer had shrugged, uncomfortable. 

"I know not everyone likes kids, but come on. You don’t have to act like they have a disease, or something," she’d said with laugh.

 _It’s not that I want to dislike them_ , he hadn’t said. _It’s just…_

(Lucifer had been in Hell for a fairly long while before the first child had arrived, all unnerving and blank. She had immediately caught his attention—surely there’d been a mistake! (Don’t be ridiculous, Luci, Father never makes mistakes, you know this—)

“Hello,” he had said then, shifting his form to match a more human appearance. “Can you tell me your name?”

She hadn’t replied, and it was only when his demon told him what she had done did he realize it had been no mistake, and sent her away as quickly as possible. He hadn’t wanted her to be subject to this torture (so, so _young_. You really are a cruel bastard, aren’t you, Dad?) but it was his job to punish those worthy of punishment, and she had certainly fit the bill.

(Didn’t stop him from throwing up.)

After her, more and more children came, little hoards of twisted maniacs, each crime more vile than the last. Murder, deception, manipulation—there was always some little monster masquerading as a sweet pony-tailed angel who had done it.

It was easy for adults to go to Hell. But for children?

Well, they had to do something so unspeakably vile to even qualify.

As the saying goes, there’s a special place in Hell for them. (And it’s far, far away from Lucifer.))

 _It’s not that I dislike them_ , he hadn’t said. _It’s that I_ fear _them_.)

But Beatrice was no sweet-faced monster in disguise, wanting to tear him apart. She was considerate, and gentle, and gazing at him with such earnest eyes he had to look away.

“It’s alright, child. We can talk about it.”

“Not if it makes you sad!”

“It does make me sad, a little bit,” he admitted, “but… I think it would be good, to talk about it. Everyone knows how the story goes from my father’s point of view. I think it would be… nice, if at least one person knew it from mine.” He looked at the child. “So, Beatrice, would you like to hear a story?”

{}

_“What was it like to fall?”_

(What wasn’t it like? It was exhilarating and fearful and exciting and pain. It was burning and freezing and feeling the wind break his wings, his bones, his skin. It was riding a bicycle on your own for the first time and feeling that delicious excitement as you realized you were doing it, only to have your stomach bottom out when you realized you couldn’t stop without falling.

It was—it was—

It was freedom. 

It was all he’d ever wanted. 

(Samael had always adored flying. Lucifer did, too. The fall didn’t change that.)

The fall? The fall was all he’d ever wanted.

(Yet another thing that silly book got wrong.)

It was the impact with the ground that broke him.)

{}

_Would you like to hear a story?_

(A very, very long time ago— _yes, child, very long ago. Much longer than you could even imagine, I should think, with your tiny human brain—what? Of course this tale is older than your grandmother! It’s—it’s as old as I am, alright? It’s my story! Ahem. May I continue?_

_Thank you._

As I was saying, a very long time ago, a being came into existence. He was nothing and He was everything—stardust and galaxies and black holes and light.

You know him as God.

He drifted around the universe, at first, curious as a child— _yes, even all-powerful primordial beings were children once, Spawn, keep up_ —but eventually decided He wanted a place to call his own. A home.

_Why? He was lonely, I suppose. All powerful or not, I think everyone needs family._

So He gathered His power and built himself a house—two houses, actually, don’t ask me why, and called them Heaven and Earth. But He was not satisfied and began to create even more, and— _you know the story of creation, don’t you? It’s in another one of those books of yours. Yes, the one with the days. One to seven. He created day and night on the first day, the firmament on the second, this ringing a bell…? It’s alright if you don’t know it, that’s not what’s important._

What’s important is that I was born on the fourth day, right along with the sun and the moon. It’s why I am the light bringer, the only being in Heaven to rival Him in divine brilliance. A little star, I was called. 

I was an accident, actually, not that anyone’ll ever admit it. Father hadn’t meant to create anything with a conscience quite yet. Well, I suppose I didn’t really have a conscious in the beginning, but—by the seventh day, I had become a… similar form to what I am now.

And He saw me, saw that I was good, and created the other angels in my image.

People have always loved to say that God loved me best, before. That I was His favourite. 

That’s not true. Yes, the others were molded after me, but that did not mean Father loved me or even favoured me. He called upon me the most, yes, far more than on my siblings, but it was not because He thought me better.

I was First, Beatrice. He called upon me because He was used to me being the only one who could answer.

I suppose even Father isn’t perfect, hm?

Anyhow, I’ll skip over all the boring parts, like the creation of animals and of oceans and rivers and having to take care of my baby siblings— _such a nightmare, you’re lucky you’re an only child_ —and get to the real juicy bit:

The creation of Humans. _Yes, that means you, Beatrice._

I suppose Father figured we needed to do something with all that extra space we had on earth, since we weren’t really using it, and decided creating an entire race in our image—our, this time, not just me—was the answer. And so He created humans.

At least, that was what _He_ called them. _I_ called them knock-off angels, but details. I mean, I wasn’t wrong! They had the key things down—the appearance, the arrogance, the insufferable pride.

They had other things we didn’t. Mortality. Vulnerability. Weakness.

Free will.

I hope you never have to experience it, Beatrice. To live a life where your should purpose is to serve someone else. To dedicate _everything_ , Beatrice—your time, your love, your effort, your life. And never have the chance to think for yourself. To be someone instead of just a glorified servant.

Your only reason for living is to be for someone else’s use. What a joke.

But humans? They were allowed to do whatever they damn well pleased. Sex before marriage— _ah, let’s not mention to the detective the I talked about the naughty-naughty, hm?_ —murder, wearing mixed fabrics— _your Bible really is quite hilarious, honestly._

You could choose to be a farmer if you truly desired.

That was never a choice I was given. I was Father’s perfect little pet—so were all the angels. A soldier in His immortal army. A puppet.

I decided I wanted to be something more. 

And so I said to Him, in all his divine glory. I said, “Please, Father. Allow us free will. Allow us _choice_. Humans have it. Why can’t we?”

And he said, “No.”

So I raised an army, and led them to the first war on Heaven soil. _Yes, on Heaven cloud, I suppose, since the Silver City’s in the sky_. With my flaming sword, I cut right through the pearly gates of Heaven and I stormed the place, my army tailing me.

It was glorious, Beatrice. 

It went on for—I don’t know how long. A fair while, before we were inevitably defeated. I was chained and dragged to lay at my father’s feet. He said, as I lied helplessly, “What have you to say for yourself, my star? I am merciful. Ask for forgiveness, and I shall give it.”

I said, “I ask for nothing, Father, because I do not regret what I did.”

He said, “You truly wished to usurp me?”

“No,” I replied. “No, the goal was to never take the City from you. It was to make you see. We are more than servants. We are angels, Father, and we deserve free will.”

He said, “I am sorry, my son,” and cast me into Hell, to be king on a throne I never desired. 

In the end, I got what I wanted, I suppose. But at what cost?

You asked me what it was like to fall, Beatrice.

It was… it was like being reborn.

{}

“I can’t believe he did that to you!” Beatrice said, anguished and righteous and looking for a fight. “To his own son!”

“Yes, well. I never did understand where humans got the ‘merciful’ part,” Lucifer said wryly, reaching to refill his glass.

“It’s not fair!” She screeched, and Lucifer realized she was genuinely upset over it. 

“Well,” he said awkwardly, “It was a little fair. I mean, I had disobeyed. I deserved to be punished.”

“Nuh uh! It doesn’t matter what you did—no one deserves that. No one… It’s not fair,” she repeated quietly

(And oh, wasn’t that funny. A human child he had only know for a second of his long lifespan, showing him the first lick concern in ages. 

Was this the appeal his siblings insisted humans had?

Lucifer could not say how many eternal nights he had pondered, he had wondered. What if he’d been wrong. If he should have remained obedient and docile. What if he’d never raised that army What if he had begged for forgiveness?

(What if what if what if)

Never had anyone told him he didn’t deserve to be punished, despite the what ifs.

What an odd child.)

“It’s aright, Spawn,” Lucifer said. He awkwardly placed a hand on her shoulder. This was how humans were comforted, right? “It’s all in the past. Water under the bridge, one might say. Besides. I think… I think, if I could go back and do it all over again, I wouldn’t do it any other way. I think, in the end, despite all the pain… it was _worth_ it.”

(Because they had choice, now. Not just Lucifer— _all_ of them. Amenadiel, free to come and try and drag him to Hell of his own volition. Uriel, (don’t think about him you murderer you scum you _disgusting killer_ —) free to come and do… whatever it was he was doing (before you _killed_ him you monster). Azrael, (Rae-Rae, why haven’t you ever come visited me? I’ve missed you. Rae-Rae _please it’s so cold down here_ —) free to take a break once in her fatherdamned life.

His siblings were free, at the price of Lucifer’s fall.

In the end, that was all that mattered.)

[They said he was selfish. Claimed he had only down it for his own gain. But it had never been about him, had it?

He was Samael, the First. The Brightest. The Oldest. 

He was their big brother. 

Everything had been for _them_.]

“Thank you for telling me, Lucifer,” the Spawn said.

“Anytime,” he replied, and as always, it was the truth.

(Later, once the detective had come to pick her child up, (oh, Trixie, you had a good time? Thank you so much for the last minute babysitting, Lucifer, you’re a real lifesaver!) Lucifer would finish his drink on the balcony, staring up at a clear sky.

He would think, that if he stared hard enough, he could just see that outline of the Silver City peaking out behind the clouds.

A pang of longing would hit him, sharp and fast, but it would be soothed by that strange warmth.

Oh.

 _It seemed that earth has changed me, after all,_ , he would think to himself, oddly amused. He would rub at his chest absently, right over his heart.

(There would be no time for anxiety, for worry, for confusion. To stare up at the ceiling at night and wonder _but but but_ —right then, however, all he was was pleasantly content.)

The Spawn, the detective, Ella, Dr. Linda, even Detective Douche and Amenadiel—they were his, now, just as his siblings once were. His to love, to protect, to cherish. And just as he was theirs.

Theirs to patch up that gaping hole the fall—nay, the _impact_ scorched through him.

_Would you look at that, dad. In your quest to punish me for eternity, you accidentally gave me the tools necessary to do what you did, all those years ago, on that very first day._

_Build yourself a family._ )

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey hey thanks for reading this dude. hope you liked it. i had a lot of fun writing this, and i def wanna continue it if i have the chance. (summer's coming up lads, which means ill be writing a heck ton more so yayyy more projects)
> 
> if you have any suggestions for what you want me to write for this series specifically, lemme know (im thinking one from the big guy's pov. ive had feels ever since god johnson). constructive criticism, lemme know. thoughts, lemme know.
> 
> comments gimme life.
> 
> okie im gonna go sleep now i think im delirious


End file.
